


Firelight

by adelaide_rain



Series: A Series of Sparks [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Bi awakening, Comfort, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-15 02:25:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14781881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adelaide_rain/pseuds/adelaide_rain
Summary: In the safety of camp and the softness of firelight, Alistair looks at Mahariel and thinks,oh.





	Firelight

It always rains in Ferelden. 

This is a fact of life; at least of Alistair’s life. Always the rain and the grey skies. He’d like to say he’s gotten used to it, but sometimes it gets a little much, dampening his spirits as much as his hair. 

It’s stopped raining for now, at least, and the ground is somewhat dry as they set up camp. There’s enough dry tinder in the woodland to make a good fire and they’re sitting around it now, Leliana cooking up something that smells _delicious._

“You are sure these mushrooms are safe to eat?” Leliana asks Maha, who foraged them, as she peers into the pot. 

“Of course I am,” Maha says, his soft voice and lilting accent making Alistair feel – something, like it always does. Something that he doesn’t have a name for and doesn’t want to examine too closely. “I’m Dalish, Leliana. Foraging in the forest is what we do.”

“And here I thought it was _frolicking_ in the forest,” Alistair says, and Maha turns a smile on him, and the smile makes that _something_ flare, makes Alistair’s mouth dry. 

“Only for you, Alistair,” he says, and he’s joking, surely, but Alistair… Maybe wishes he wasn’t. 

He looks away, heart thumping hard, and tries to back away from that _something_ but Maker, he’s too close and he can’t help but see it plain. 

He likes Maha. _Like_ likes. 

Only a great force of will stops Alistair from dropping his head into his hands there and then and bemoaning his lot as terror and delight assail him in equal measure. 

He’s not – he’s never liked a man before. Like this. Not that he’s opposed to it. But it’s – new. But then, Maha isn’t like anyone he’s ever met, and not just because he’s Dalish. He’s beautiful and he’s brave, he’s smart and strong and-

 _Oh, Maker, I’ve got it bad, haven’t I?_

This is a bad idea for so very many reasons. The whole first-time-attracted-to-a-man thing is one reason to at least think deeply before doing anything, followed very quickly by the never-been-in-a—relationship thing. And of course there’s the Blight hanging over them like the darkest, gloomiest cloud there’s ever been. The fact that they’re the only two Grey Wardens in the whole of Ferelden is a pretty important point to consider too. 

_He might not even like you back,_ Alistair thinks, and wishes he hadn’t. 

And then Leliana is pressing a bowl of stew into his hands, startling him out of his thoughts. Morrigan joins them for a change, but Alistair can’t be too annoyed. A bickering session with her is a nice respite from thinking far too much about things he doesn’t want to think about at all. 

Once they’re done eating, though, she retreats back into the shadows like the overgrown bat that she is, and Sten returns to glowering into the darkness; such a happy party they make. 

Leliana picks up a lyre she found on the roadside; she’s trying to fix it, and while Alistair doesn’t know much about musical instruments, he thinks it’s a lost cause. 

Or maybe he’s projecting. 

He looks up at Maha, and frowns. He’s got his knees tucked into his chest, arms wrapped around them, and he’s looking into the fire. He looks lost and sad, and Alistair’s heart hurts to see him like that. Before he can think better of it he moves to sit beside him, and green eyes flash in his direction for a moment before looking back at the fire. 

“Are you alright?” Alistair asks softly. 

Maha doesn’t answer for a moment, and when he does he’s very quiet, his words almost lost under the crackling of the flames. 

“It’s just – all of this is so _much,”_ he says. “The – being a Warden. Darkspawn. Being away from my clan. Demons and Templars and Chantries.” A smile, a small one, and he looks at Alistair again. “Morrigan.”

“Oh, definitely Morrigan. Worse than the Blight if you ask me,” he says, then sobers, putting a hand to Maha’s shoulder. They’re out of their armour, with plans to clean it after dinner, and Alistair can’t help but notice that Maha’s shoulder is strong and warm beneath his shirt. “I- I know how you feel, though. I mean – not all of it. Being away from your clan, and how different all this must be for you, I can’t imagine how hard that is. Some of it, though. The Blight. Morrigan. You know.” Maha gives him a look, and Alistair clears his throat. “I guess, what I’m trying to say is – this is a lot for me, but it’s so much more for you. But if I can help you carry that weight, I will. I’d like to. I’ve got broad shoulders after all.”

Maha glances at his shoulders, then, and his gaze lingers in a way that makes Alistair’s throat dry. Instead of saying anything, Maha unfurls from his self-hug and shifts a little closer so that he can rest his cheek on Alistair’s shoulder. 

“So you do,” he says, and – oh, Maker. He’s warm, and he smells of the forest, and his hair is soft against Alistair’s cheek, and this is – too much. It’s far too much. But somehow, without any input from his brain, his arm is sliding around Maha’s waist, and they’re sitting together, leaning against each other, and it’s-

Right. 

His heart is racing and his nerves are a tangle of thorns. He has no idea what he’s doing, or where this is going, or if this means anything at all to Maha, but this moment, right now, is good. It’s very good. 

Over the fire, he sees Leliana smirking at the two of them, and he glares at her. She has the dignity to cover her mouth with a hand when she laughs, at least, before turning her attention back to her lyre. 

Taking a careful breath, Alistair looks at Maha out of the corner of his eye, at auburn hair glinting red in the firelight, and with a sudden spike of reckless bravery, lets his cheek drop to rest against it. With a pleased-sounding sigh, Maha moves a little closer and drapes his arm across those supposedly-broad shoulders. 

Neither of them speaks; neither of them moves. Not until it’s time for sleep, armour cleaning forgotten. 

It’ll mean an early morning tomorrow to get it done, and Alistair’s never been a fan of mornings. 

But it’ll be worth it, for this. 

This would be worth most anything.

**Author's Note:**

> First: Thank you for reading! You're awesome <3
> 
> Second: Just fyi, this is part of a series that will end up being Maha/Alistair/Zevran. 
> 
> Third: [This is Maha (and Zev!).](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com/post/122709104115/dorian-trash-commission-done-for) I just finished replaying DAO and forgot how bad the CC was, but this is what he looks like as far as I'm concerned :3
> 
> Aaaand you can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/adelaide_rain) and [tumblr.](http://raininginadelaide.tumblr.com)


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